Never be lonely
by Thesilverlaurel
Summary: In a war-riddled world, Italy and Canada are both dying, and Russia may be the only hope. But Russia has given up his position as a nation representative to save his dying sisters, and has more secrets he won't tell until forced to by a snapped Asian nation. This is the story of how a soldier, a maid-boy and two heroes save a dying man in an attempt to save their loved ones.
1. Draw a circle that's the Earth

**Warnings, PLEASE READ!  
Speech is written semi-phonetically, and there will be swearing  
Psycho! Japan  
Gore (dissection, cannibalism, fights, broken bones, suicide)  
Delicate subjects (suicide, death)  
Character deaths  
Incredibly plot-packed  
Germany=HRE theory  
GerIta is the only 'official' ship here. There are hints of a mixture of others that can be interpreted however you like  
I am a sadistic writer, so if this story does not evoke feels, I will be disappointed. **

* * *

"You can't be serious, Kiku," Ludwig glances from him, to Feliciano, and back again, "You don't know what you're talking about." **  
**

"I'm afraid I do," Kiku's expression is as stony as ever as he speaks; "Nations are dying around us. Can you really stand to see him fall? Or see his misery as everyone he loves falls?"

Ludwig gazes out to sea. They're somehow marooned again, on a different beach somewhere in America they think, and again have set up camp. Feliciano is fast asleep, Ludwig and Kiku awake and watching for signs of life.

"Nein, I cannot do that. But I cannot do what you have proposed either."

"Why? Feliciano cannot protect Italy. We can. We can save his country, guide it through this war. We can make Italy powerful, like his Grandfather before him."

"There has to be another way!" Ludwig whisper-shouts.

"There isn't!" Kiku snaps; the first time Ludwig has ever heard him raise his voice. "But," Kiku continues, voice quietening back to his usual quiet tone, "But there is a way we can be sure he won't be hurt.

Ludwig follows Kiku's gaze out to the ocean. "You can't be serious."

Ludwig at his shoulders, Kiku at his legs, Feliciano is carried into the sea, his dormant body lifted above the waves.

He gasps aloud as he is lowered, the cold water slapping him awake. He flails, trying to grab Ludwig as the salty liquid soaks his clothes, Feliciano gulping for air.

Ludwig cries, tears streaming down his reddened face, as the water closes over Feliciano's face, as Feliciano scrabbles and scratches helplessly at the iron grip on his shoulders, as Feliciano finally stops thrashing.

Kiku drops Feliciano's legs lazily onto the sand. Ludwig places him down gently, still sobbing quietly.

Kiku throws some small of wood onto the fire, and hangs Feliciano's favourite pasta pan very the flames. He takes up one of Feliciano's kitchen knives- a small, sharp one that Feliciano would use to chop up wurst for Ludwig, because he knew how much Ludwig likes wurst- and begins to cut Feliciano's shirt open, taking little notice of how the point would repeatedly nick the soft flesh of Feliciano's stomach. When Ludwig flatly refuses to let go of Feliciano's body, Kiku shrugs his German friend's misery off and digs the knife in just under Feliciano's collar bone. He drags the knife down between his rubs, through his abdomen, stomach, navel, stopping at his hips. Kiku's hand delves into Feliciano's stomach, blood soaking the already wet sleeves of his jacket. His hand closes around something warm and moist, and he slowly begins to pull it out. Inch by inch, Feliciano's colon is pulled from his stomach, Kiku wrapping the organ around his arm as if he's simply gathering up cloth. The colon is cut away and dumped unceremoniously in a small, tangled pile on the sand. Kiku's hand returns to Feliciano's stomach, this time grasping the Italian's pancreas.

* * *

The colon, wound into a tight spiral, covers the bottom of the large pan, and makes a sizzling noise it cooks. A small pile of organs lie in a messy, bloody heap by the fire. Ludwig cries, Feliciano's emptied corpse sprawled over the trembling German's legs.

Ludwig barely fights back as Kiku forces his mouth open, stuffs a barely-cooked piece of offal into his jaw and stares at him evenly until he slowly chews and eventually swallows his best friend. Piece by painful piece, the chewy intestine is fed down Ludwig's throat. The aftertaste of plain pasta barely registers as Ludwig gazes sadly down at Feliciano. The pan sizzles again as the diced chunks of liver are thrown lazily into the bottom.

A small groan sounds from Ludwig's legs. The German stares down in shock as Feliciano rolls his head around, mumbling something in Italian. "Ve, Ludwig, are you cooking a Full English this morning?" **  
**

Kiku gives a dry smile, "The only good food to come from Britain."

"You don't usually give your opinion, Kiku! Or crack jokes, but that was a pretty funny one, ve~"

Ludwig's jaw quivers, random syllables in a mixture of Latin, German and English choking from his throat. "You said he was dead!" he screams, pointing an accused finger at Kiku.

Kiku rolls his eyes, "You can't kill a nation, _idiot_," he speaks slowly, as if explaining something to a small child, his voice dripping with uncharacteristic sarcasm, "And I never said he was dead, I said "that's enough"."

"My chest hurts," Feliciano whines, dragging his arms across the sand until his hands are laid flat, and he begins to push himself up.

Ludwig presses him back down, one hand under the Italian's chin to stop him from looking down at his bloody body, "It's… it's nothing, Feli, go back to sleep."

"But I'm hungry! My poor belly is practically empty!" Feliciano's hands move before Ludwig has a chance to stop them, going to rest on his stomach. "My belly feels funny," he says softly, his fingers massaging his stomach. They ghost over his halved naval, blood coating his nails.

"It's okay," Ludwig presses Feliciano's hands back down to the sand, "Just go back to sleep, it's okay…"

Kiku laughs hollowly, "No it isn't. Italia-sama, you have been cut open and your digestive system removed. Your liver is cooking, and your colon has already been cooked and Ludwig has eaten it."

"Say wha?" Feliciano gazes up at Ludwig, "Why would you do that, Luddy?"

"I just…" Ludwig's fingers curl unconsciously around Feliciano's, "I just wanted Nord Italien save, and Kiku said he how to knew. Kiku had that the only way Nord Italien save was protect it myself said, because would you have fear, but would you not just your country away give so we would have to from you take, but I have not known…" **  
**

"It's okay, Luddy," Feliciano gives Ludwig's hand a small squeeze, "I know you're upset, 'cause you're saying English words in the German order. You always get your languages mixed up when you're upset."

Ludwig squeezes Feliciano's hand back, "Dänke schön, Feli. Es tu mir lied."**  
**

"Y'know, you could just have asked," Feliciano says, "I would have to think about it, because Lovino doesn't like you and wouldn't like sharing the country with you, but if I had to give it up, I would give my land to either you or Lovi."

Ludwig pulls Feliciano up into an awkward hug. Blood soaks the sand and Feliciano grits his teeth in pain, but returns the hug. Kiku just rolls his eyes.

"Es tu mir leid," Ludwig mumbles. He puts Feliciano down again, still cradling the Italian's head in his lap.

Kiku holds up a plate. Grey pieces of meat have been piled carelessly on the plain platter. Ludwig grimaces, pushing the plate away.

"Eat it, Luddy."

Ludwig stares down at Feliciano in shock. "You can't be serious!"

"You seem to be saying that a lot recently," Kiku mumbles.

"Lovino won't like it, but you can look after my half of the country. Take care of it for me, Luddy."

Still clinging to Feliciano's hands, Ludwig allows Kiku to feed him the chunks of offal, the sliced pancreas already sizzling in the bottom of the bottom of the pan. As Ludwig slowly chews, Kiku raises a slightly burnt piece to his own mouth. Feliciano kicks him sharply in the thigh and glares at him, "Italy is already in two. Put that down, Japan."

Kiku glares back, then feeds the piece to Ludwig. Feliciano smiles and gives a little 've~' as if the entire scene is perfectly normal.

"How can you be so calm?" Ludwig asks quickly before Kiku stuffs another chunk of liver into his jaw.

"It's really easy, really," Feliciano says, grinning, "I'm singing one of my favourite songs in my head~"

"Can you singing?" Ludwig asks, a blush heating his hamster-like cheeks, "Out loud? Bitte?"

Feliciano nods, and opens his mouth; "Ne, ne, papa, can I have wine? Ne, ne, mama! Ne, ne, mama!"

Ludwig's eyes widen and his jaw drops, a half-chewed chunk of liver almost falling out.

"Luddy?" Feliciano frowns, "Are you alright?"

"I know this song," Ludwig mumbles, Kiku making sure he doesn't spit out the offal.

"I sang it a lot when I was a bambi, but I stopped when Holy Rome died. Holy Rome really liked that song. I sing it in my head, because even though it reminds me of Holy Rome, which should make me sad, the song makes me really happy~"

Ludwig just stares emptily, still chewing at the slimy mush in his mouth.

"No matter what, I can't forget," Feliciano continues, "The taste of the bolognaise won't get out of my head! Draw a circle, that's the Earth!" Ludwig is still staring down at him, the image of a little green-clad maid burning in his mind, "Draw a circle, that's the Earth," the little maid is sweeping, using a decking brush far too tall for her tiny frame, "Draw a circle, that's the Earth," the little maid stands by Austria's piano, singing the exact same song Italy is singing, her voice high and rather squeaky, "I am Italy~"

Ludwig chokes on his current meat chunk as both Feliciano and the little maid in his mind proclaim themselves Italy, both with the exact same happy, ditzy grin gracing their features. "Heilig Scheisse."

Feliciano frowns up at Ludwig, and Kiku pauses his force-feeding. Blue eyes bore into Feliciano's face, then rake over his bloody body and back down to his face. "You… you're… you're…" Ludwig chews on his lower lip, thousands of images flitting through his mind of ties long past. He awkwardly clears his throat, then slowly, shakily, carefully sings; "Oh, a beautiful world that can be seen in the stroke of a single brush."

Feliciano's frown deepens, then widens, "Holy Rome!"

Ludwig nods, words still tumbling from his mouth, "And now we toast with a big boot!"

Kiku rolls his eyes as, in almost perfect unison, Ludwig and Feliciano chorus; "Hetalia!"

* * *

**This chapter was inspired by a friend telling me about the Hetalia Creepypasta. The rest just happened. This is rated T because M is reserved for butts.**

**I don't own Hetalia  
-Laurel Silver**


	2. It's a hero parade

_"You have to be careful," the president had said, "You're not invincible anymore."_

_Alfred had laughed, "Need I remind you who I am? I am the United States of America; Land of the Free, Home of the Brave, Freedom Personified, The Hero!"_

_"There's a new gas, sir, which can kill even nations. Poland and the Baltic States are gone. The Nordics are following in their footsteps. No word has been heard from Korea or Taiwan. The representatives of Germany, North Italy and Japan have gone missing. The representatives of England, France, Russia and China are on their way here to discuss our options. And you already know of Canada's situation."_

"Hawaii Watch Party Omega has spotted trespassers," Alfred says, strapping his guns into the holsters on his belt.

"Are you alright, lad?" Arthur rests a hand on his former colony's shoulder, "The death of a leader is always difficult."

Alfred smiles wearily, "It's not like I haven't lived through it before. And besides, we're all leaderless now, aren't we?"

Yao swings his wok through the air and balances it comically on his head, Alfred's childish laughter at the action managing to lighten the moody atmosphere, if only by a little, "Let's go round up those trespassers, aru."

"I'm *hack* coming too."

"Mattie," Alfred sits his brother down, "Mattie, no, you have to stay here, you're sick."

"I'm fine," Matthew's voice is weaker than usual, "Let me *hack* help."

Alfred presses an inhaler into his hands, "Pleases, Mattie."

Ivan rolls his eyes, "An inhaler will do nothing to help him."

"How would you even know?" Alfred snaps.

"It took not only the Baltic States but also my sisters," Ivan says calmly, as if the deaths of his family are no more important than the weather, "Do you think I haven't tried that? There isn't an antidote."

There is a long pause, broken only by Matthew's constant coughing and wheezing, in which Alfred simply glares at Ivan. "I can try," he says finally, his voice dangerously quiet.

"Da, you can. And I can guarantee you will fail."

Arthur, Francis and Yao gasp –Arthur and Francis from shock, Yao more from fear- as Alfred's fist connects squarely with Ivan's prominent nose. The huge nation is knocked backwards, blood gushing out over his lips and chin.

After Arthur has dragged Alfred away from his new Russian punching bag, which had refused to defend himself in any way, Yao dabs gingerly at Ivan's face with an ice pack, "How are you feeling, aru?"

"Not good, comrade Yao-Yao. My nose hurts."

"I am not surprised, aru," Yao studies the bruises, "The swelling is not going down; you are not healing, aru."

Arthur's attention snaps across to them at that statement, "That can't be! He's a nation, just like the rest of us. The only things that can scar us are battles and damage to our lands; any personal injuries heal over."

"I am telling you that he is not healing, aru."

"Russia, may I borrow your arm?" Arthur asks. Ivan frowns at the seemingly random question and holds out his arm. Arthur holds him by the arm, and with a forced smile says, "I'm incredibly sorry," then his other hand slashes down, the fore-concealed blade of a commander's knife leaving a shallow gash in Ivan's forearm.

Ivan gives a small gasp, whipping his arm away. Arthur forcefully snatches it back, and studies the wound. "It's not healing, dammit, why aren't you healing?!"

Alfred takes his former caretaker's knife and makes a cut across the back of his own hand. As the wound seals itself, the nations exchange confused glances. "Russia, why aren't you healing?"

Ivan sighs. "You were going to find out eventually," he straightens up, scanning the group to find the attentions of all five nations are directed onto him, "They were dying. I didn't want my sisters to die. I had already lost the Baltic States- I was cruel to them, but I still loved them as family, dysfunctional a family as we were, and now they are gone, and I can't lose my sisters too."

"What the hell are you talking about," Arthur demands.

"Russia now includes not only Russia but what used to be Poland, Lithuania, Estonia, Latvia, Ukraine and Belarus. It stretches over twelve time-zones over Europe and Asia; the largest country by uncountable square miles."

"We know all that! What does it have to do with your inability to heal?"

"It's being announced to the world this afternoon; Russia is splitting in two. Rosiya will be in Asia. Baltica will be in Europe. Katyusha will be Rosiya, and Natalia will be Baltica."

"But what about you?"

"I am old, comrade England."

"Aiyah!" a wok flies through the air, smacking Ivan squarely on the crown of the head, "Katyusha is older than you, and China is over four thousand years old, aru!"

"Prosti," Ivan mumbles, "Prosti."

"You can do that," Alfred asks, "You can just… give up your country and just… die?"

"Yes it is possible," Arthur says, "But could you really trust someone else to do it? To take on your country, your responsibilities, your life?"

"Da," Ivan says calmly, "I can trust my sisters."

"But what about *hack* *hack* what about Canada?"

"Well, if you don't give it up to someone, it will be handed over to the ever-growing Russian Empire by default, for some reason I cannot explain," Arthur glances at Ivan as he speaks.

Everyone's gaze settles on Ivan, expecting an answer to the unasked question. Ivan sighs and shuffles awkwardly, "The gas was invented by a Russian."

"Who, aru?" Yao asks.

"More importantly, are they alive?" Alfred demands, "'Cause if they are, we can get an antidote from them."

Ivan gives Alfred a sad, sombre smile, "He is not dead, but dying. And I am telling you, comrade, there is no antidote."

"But what if I give the States to Mattie?"

The room falls silent. Matthew taps his brother on the shoulder. As Alfred turns, Matthew's thin hand flies through the air, connecting with Alfred's cheek with a sharp slap.

"You can't do that!" Matthew shouts. Eyes widen and jaws drop at the suddenly assertive Canuk, "You can't just *hack* hand the United States of America over to someone! Don't you know the influence you and your people have on the world?!"

"But Mattie," Alfred cradles his reddening cheek, tears forming behind his square glasses, "I don't want you to die… I'm gonna be your hero, I'm gonna save you, I don't want you to die, Mattie."

"I know, Alfie," Matthew wraps an arm around Alfred, pulling him into a hug that Alfred gladly returns, "But you can't go either. The world needs you *hack* the United States of America and Canada."

"What?"

"I'm giving Canada to you, Alfie," Matthew gives a small smile as Alfred pulls away, gazing at the Canuk in confusion, "Take care of it for me, bro."

"Well, that's a relief," Arthur claps Matthew on the back, "There'll be no cutting or disembowelling here!"

"What the hell are you talking about?" Alfred asks, frowning at the apparent joke. Yao pulls an unreadable face.

Arthur's face turns visibly paler, "You mean… you don't know?"

"Don't know what?"

"It doesn't matter," Arthur shakes his head and returns to adjusting his bootlaces to accommodate for the now-scabbarded commander's knife as well as his ankle.

"No, dude, you brought it up," Alfred drags Arthur up, forcing his father to look him in the eye, "You gotta tell us; you can't just leave it there."

"I don't _have to_ do anything," Arthur snaps, emphasising the correct English. He pulls himself from Alfred's grip, giving his former colony the dirtiest glare he can muster.

"Papa…" Matthew looks up at Francis, "What *hack* what's Dad talking about?"

"Mon petit," Francis coos, pulling an excessively lacy handkerchief from a pocket and dabbing at Matthew's faced with it, "I never told you because it is a horrible, horrible thing and I didn't want mon petit choux to be disturbed."

"Papa, what is it? Pa- *hack* *hack* Papa, just tell me!"

"A way of forcing a nation to give you their country."

"What is it?" Alfred demands, his voice even louder than usual.

Arthur winces at the volume, "It's disgusting, it's disturbing, and it doesn't matter."

Alfred grabs the gentleman by the front of his buttoned shirt and lifts him the couple of inches necessary for his face to fill Arthur's vision. "Quit stalling and fucking tell us."

Arthur swallows hard, unable to break eye contact with Alfred. Francis holds Matthew upright as the latter chokes and wheezes, dabbing the thick black phlegm from the sick ex-colony's lip away with the too-fancy handkerchief. Ivan sits quietly, playing with his fingers as if nothing is happening. Yao watches the scene carefully, expression undecipherable, his wok spinning and turning idly between his hands, his gaze constantly flicking back to Ivan, hoping he'll suddenly start to heal.

"To forcibly take a country from its representative, you have to…" Arthur trails off, lost for words. His head turns, emerald eyes begging Ivan and Yao for help.

Yao sighs. "They have to cut out the nation's digestive system and eat it, aru. The nation will be dead by the next morning, and the country will belong to anyone who had eaten part of the organs, aru."

The room is deadly silent. The silence is broken only by Matthew, not coughing but throwing up. No one is sure whether it's because of the poison or the story.

Alfred lets go of Arthur, the elder nation dropping awkwardly to the floor. "That's disgusting," Alfred mumbles, rocking back and forth on his feet in discomfort, "That's… how would you even find out that that happens? That's disgusting…"

"That's why it's so rarely done, aru," Yao says quietly, "I've only known of three times it has ever happened, aru."

"I haven't heard of any," Francis says, patting Matthew on the back as the younger chokes again, "Who was it?"

Even though Yao hears him, he pretends he didn't notice and snatches up his wicker basket, his panda giving a timid little wave as he settles the basket onto his back. "You said there were trespassers, aru?"

"Yeah," Alfred clumsily checks over his own guns and grabs a rifle, "Hawaii Omega, yeah. Artie, Yao, Ivan; with me. Francis; stay with Mattie. Mattie; stay here and just… just try to breathe, okay? We'll be back soon, and we'll find an antidote, and you'll be saved. The hero promises, yeah? And the hero never loses, and the hero never lies."

* * *

**Rosiya is derived from the Russian pronunciation of Russia. Baltica is derived from the word 'Baltic'**

**Next chapter is really long. Sorry.**

**I don't own Hetalia  
-Laurel Silver**


	3. I wanna be your friend

Alfred leads the group, as everyone would expect the hero to, but his thoughts are clearly elsewhere. His rifle is slung over his shoulder, his shoes scuff across the dirt, his shoulders are slumped, and his head has rolled forwards until it is practically resting on his chest. Arthur is at his left shoulder, gun loaded and ready to fire. Yao is at his right shoulder, wok spinning, eyes scanning, panda sleeping. Ivan has been forced behind Alfred, between Yao and Arthur. A thin white plaster has been stuck over the bridge of his swollen nose, and Yao has made him wear a bulletproof vest under his coat and thick gloves to cover his hand, compromising the grip on his pipe.

"There they are," Alfred mumbles, ducking behind a bush, the others following suit.

When Alfred doesn't speak again, Arthur gives him an encouraging nudge, "Shouldn't we be doing something about this, lad?"

"Eh? Oh, yeah, uh, China!" he exclaims half-heartedly, "I choose you!"

Yao jumps from the hiding place, sprinting across the sand. Kiku leaps to his feet, drawing his katana from its sheath, the metal shining in the moonlight. Ludwig remains on his knees, mumbling his way through a reprise of Holy Rome and Italy's song. Feliciano manages a weak "Say wha?" before returning to singing along with Ludwig.

Yao freezes at the sight of the blood. "Kiku…" the wok drops to his side, and he just stares at his brother sadly, "Kiku, I thought we had talked about this… you said you were going to stop this… you said you wouldn't do it again…"

Kiku rolls his eyes, "I said I wouldn't attack family. You just didn't listen very well."

"Yao?" Arthur calls from the overgrowth, "What the hell is going on?"

Yao looks back at the confused trio as they pick their way out of the vegetation, "It's Kiku," he babbles, "I… Kiku… he's… I don't even know…"

Approaching cautiously, Alfred gags at the sight and strong smell of blood. Arthur gives Yao an awkward hug and pat on the back as the ancient Asian breaks down into tears. Ivan kneels by Ludwig and Feliciano, and gently pulls at the gaping hole in Feliciano's stomach, peering in.

"It's all been taken," he says, carefully putting the damaged skin back into place, "He will die soon. Prosti."

"You said you would stop!" Yao shrieks at Kiku, still clinging to Arthur's shoulders.

"I said I would stop eating my siblings," Kiku says plainly, "Is my English failing?" he asks openly, "People keep misunderstanding what I say."

"Your English is just fine," Ludwig growls, "You just have a way of twisting your own words."

Kiku gives an innocent smile. Arthur scowls, before pulling Yao off his shoulders and handing the trembling man to Alfred. Yao clings to Alfred in the same way he had clung to Arthur and Alfred hugs back, both men trying to shield both himself and the other from the horror on the sand.

Arthur grips Kiku by the wrist and wrenches the katana from his hand. Kiku dives to the sand, twisting his arm, reaching for the small 'wurst knife' he had cut Feliciano with. Arthur pulls on Kiku's arm then presses back down again, forcing Kiku's face into the sand and stamps on Kiku's free hand with his hard, heavy boot, just inches away from the sought-after knife. Kiku squirms and bucks, trying to get the Englishman off of him, only succeeding in making his own arm grind harder into his shoulder. Arthur twists his ankle around, digging the solid heel of his boot into Kiku's thin hand as if he's crushing a large bug, effectively breaking Kiku's hand. Kiku yells in pain as bones snap and fingers warp, and begins to thrash even more violently. He yells out again as the odd angle of his arm forces the bone to pop out of place.

Arthur releases Kiku, and the injured man collapses onto the sand, snarling, cursing, threatening Arthur in his own language. Arthur presses his boot into the small of Kiku's back and bends down to seize his wrists. He harshly forces Kiku's dislocated arm back into place before pressing Kiku's hands behind his back, securing them together with a thick pair of handcuffs produced from the back of his Union Flag belt.

He drags Kiku up and shoves him ahead of him, "We need to get back to camp, get Japan secured, and find something to help Italy."

"You can't help Italy," Kiku snaps.

"It's true, aru," Yao looks up from Alfred's shoulder, "This happened to Taiwan and the Korea twins; there's nothing we can do."

Kiku gives a giggle, "It's no use, _Doitsu_, he'll by dead by sunrise."

"We can try," Alfred says. He gives Yao an encouraging squeeze, then lets go and seizes Kiku by the arm, "Why do you have handcuffs on you, anyway?"

"Because I'm British," Arthur grabs Kiku by the other arm.

"Are you trying to tell me that everyone in Britain carries handcuffs?"

"Don't be ridiculous! Don't you remember that singing bloke in the sky? "In heaven, the police would be British." I carry handcuffs because my police force is bloody brilliant!"

"So it's got nothing to do with Francis and his fetishes?"

"No it bloody well doesn't!"

"If you're quite finished, we should be going!" Ludwig barks. Feliciano is laid in his arms, clinging to Ludwig's shoulders, gritting his teeth in pain. Yao is fussing over Ivan, paranoid about the Russian's new-found mortality. Alfred gives Arthur a nod, and the English-speaking brothers frog-march Kiku at the front of the group, followed by Ludwig carrying Feliciano, then finally Ivan being forced to walk in front of Yao.

* * *

"We're back!" Alfred hollers, "And we're gonna need a lockable room!"

Francis comes scurrying out of an office, a ring of keys hanging from his hand, "Why do we need a lockable room?"

"Japan's gone nutzo," Alfred says bluntly, giving Kiku a shake as he speaks.

"We need you to open the operating theatre too," Arthur says, dragging Kiku to a locked door, "Put Japan in this one, then open the operating theatre; we need to help Italy."

"Mon petit Feli?" Francis freezes, key in the lock.

"Open the bloody door!" Arthur shouts.

"What *hack* what's going on?" Matthew comes shuffling out of the office, Francis's handkerchief scrunched in his fist.

Kiku leans back, directing his attention from Matthew to Yao and Ivan, and back, and back to Yao and Ivan again, "This is interesting."

"Shut up!" Alfred barks, dragging Kiku upright.

"You haven't told them, have you?" Kiku asks, leaning back again.

"Told who what, aru?" Yao tilts his head, his face a picture of confusion.

"Not you! Russia!" Faces drop into frowns and heads turn, staring at Ivan. Kiku snorts, "You haven't wondered why the countries of the gas victims would go to Russia?"

"Because the guy what invented the gas was Russian," Alfred says slowly, unsure.

"No. Because the guy that invented the gas was _Russia_."

A long suffocating moment of silence rings through the air.

Suddenly, Alfred slams Kiku into the wall, letting him go, and marches over to Ivan. Fists fly, not a single attack being blocked or dodged, angry punches being peppered unforgivingly over Ivan's face, head and torso. Blood pumps from his already injured nose, as well as teeth being lost and black eyes being gained. A knee to the stomach and Ivan doubles over, clutching his abdomen as fists, turned to steel with anger, rain down over his shoulders and spine, shoving him to the floor.

Yao grabs Alfred by the shoulders, dragging him away, the angered American's arms still flailing randomly, aiming blindly for Ivan. Said Russian staggers to his feet, head bowed, blood dripping to the floor. Struggling against Yao, Alfred kicks and bull-charges, desperately determined to get one last hit at Ivan. "An antidote! You have to have made a fucking antidote!"

Ivan continues staring at the floor as he slowly shakes his head. Alfred manages to break free of Yao's grip, landing a few more punches to Ivan's shoulders and face, before Yao drags him away, Alfred still screaming about an antidote.

"Open the bloody door!" Arthur yells at Francis. Francis flinches, then shoves the key into the lock and throws the door open. Arthur stuffs Kiku into the enclosed office, not caring for the smaller man's comfort as Kiku slams into the heavy wooden desk. The door shuts and locks, Arthur barking at Francis to get the operating theatre unlocked. Kiku simply sits himself down in the office chair, hands still secured behind his back, and makes himself as comfortable as he can.

Yao slams Alfred into a wall, holding the struggling superpower against the brickwork, gesturing with his head at Ivan to move. Ivan slinks past, beckoning for Ludwig to follow him with Feliciano, Matthew following out of curiosity.

On Ivan's orders, Ludwig places Feliciano down on the operating table. Arthur pulls Matthew and Francis into a corner, explaining the situation to them. Shrieks of "Mon petit!" and "I do not believe you!" erupt from Francis, but Matthew remains silent, aside from his persistent coughing and wheezing, his face growing thoughtful as Feliciano's condition is described to him.

Ivan studies Feliciano's injuries, handling the wound as gently as he can. Ludwig and Feliciano sing their way through an odd little refrain, Ludwig insistently continuing to sing even when Feliciano cries out in pain. Ivan growls something about, "Singing will only cause Italy more injury," but a Ludwig simply gives him a cold, hard glare, he leaves the distressed duo to it.

Matthew taps Ivan gently on the shoulder, Ivan turning around as Matthew asks; "Can I help?"

Ivan shakes his head, "I can't let you do that; if you have a coughing fit you could cause more damage."

"No! I wanna help like…" Matthew stumbles to a stop, "I'm about to die… do you think that, maybe, I could help Italy?"

"You mean… you want to give Italy your organs?"

Matthew nods, "I'm not gonna be using them, so we might as well."

The door swings open, a now calm, yet still glaring daggers at Ivan, Alfred being herded into the room by Yao. Alfred gently grabs Matthew by the upper arms, guiding his brother away from the Russian, maintaining unforgivingly cold eye contact with the scarfed man. Francis taps Alfred on the shoulder, hoping to explain the situation to him. Alfred just shifts his glare from Ivan to the Frenchman, taking the keys from Francis as he mumbles something about the "Hero's responsibility."

"If that's what you want," Ivan says, his accented word directed at Matthew, "But there are so many implications I doubt it will work."

Alfred pulls Matthew a little closer to his body, "What won't work? What has implications?"

Matthew turns slightly, looking his southern twin in the eyes, "I wanna help Italy."

"You always wanna help people, Mattie," Alfred gives his brother a squeeze, then steps back, giving him space to be the hero that Alfred tries to be.

"Amerika," Ivan calls, "Fetch a second operating table; there should be another theatre upstairs."

Alfred nods, dashing out of the room. Ivan gives Ludwig's shoulder a shake, about to tell him to move back, but is once again stopped by Ludwig's glare. Feliciano weakly guides Ludwig to the head of the table and clings to his forearms, staring up at the miserable German.

After a series of thuds, crashes, and a loud chant of "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," Alfred appears through the door, dragging an operating table behind him. Shooing Francis, Arthur and Yao out, Alfred and Ivan manage to manoeuvre the table together, standing it alongside Feliciano's. Matthew lies down on the table, unbuttoning his shirt, his hoodie already discarded. Alfred stands next to Ludwig, and as Matthew's shirt joins his hoodie in the corner, his hand wrap around his brother's arms much like Ludwig and Feliciano.

Ivan quickly finds the scalpel among the carefully organised tools. Hesitant he calls over his shoulder; "There is not enough time to anaesthetise you or put you to sleep. You will be awake throughout the procedure."

"That's okay," Matthew says, his fingers curling around his brother's arms in instinctive fear.

"Why would you need that?" Alfred asks, leaning down until his face fills Matthew's vision, "Why are you on an operating table?"

"I'm gonna help Italy."

"But he's got, like, no organs."

Matthew smiles wearily, "And dead people don't, like, need organs."

Alfred stares down at his brother, jaw hanging open, blinking owlishly, gathering his thoughts. Painfully slow, he looks up at Ivan and utters that clichéd movie line; "Oh, hell no!"

As Ivan approaches, scalpel balanced in his hand, Alfred throws his body, determined to protect the shy Canuk. Matthew struggles, Alfred's shirt sticking to his mouth, suffocating him.

After an accidental kick to Feliciano's head, Ludwig grabs Alfred and throws him across the room. Ivan politely steps out of the way as Ludwig storms after the tossed Yankee, teeth gritting, jaw clenching, muscles tensing. He drags Alfred up by his hair, and slams his head face-first into the wall. Scalpel discarded, Ivan's thick arms wrap around Ludwig's chest, pulling Ludwig away. Alfred clambers to his feet, disorientated, then lashes out at the restrained German, 'accidentally' hitting Ivan several times as well. Ludwig thrashes against Ivan, too angry to fight back in his usual tactical way. He kicks and shouts, until a cry of "Germany!" pierces the guttural rant, halting the fight as immediately and suddenly as it had started.

Ludwig wrenches himself from Ivan's grip, shoving the Russian aside to see Matthew pulling on Feliciano's rebellious curl. Before the red mist has a chance to rise, Matthew plainly says; "I had to get your attention somehow."

Ludwig returns to coddling Feliciano, slapping Matthew's hand away. Alfred dashes to the Canuk, grabbing him by the shoulders, "Dafuq, Mattie?"

"I'm not gonna need them," Matthew shrugs, "There's a chance Italy could live."

"There are two Italies! Italy will be just fine!"

Matthew glares, "If there was a chance I could be saved, would you take it?"

"Of course I'd take it; I'm the hero!"

"Alfie," Matthew reaches up, wrapping his hands around the back of Alfred's neck, "Just this once, let me be the hero."

Alfred just grips Matthew's arms tighter, breathing deeply, and gives a quick nod. Matthew pulls his brother down, planting a gentle kiss against his forehead. Ivan approaches cautiously, as anyone would after being attacked three times by the same superpower. Alfred re-positions himself at the head of the table, still clinging to Matthew, keeping a cautious distance from Ludwig.

Matthew gives a small hiss of pain as the scalpel digs in between his ribs, drawing a smooth, thin line of red down his stomach, around his navel to his hips. He makes another two cuts, one at either end of the original cut, forming an 'H' shape across Matthew's stomach. As gently as he can, he peels back the skin, pausing when Alfred's grip on his brother's arms tightens, a new-found fear of the American beginning to form. Matthew doesn't move or struggle- just lies, clinging to his brother, eyes crushed shut. He comforts Alfred when he flinches, fingers digging into Matthew's arms, and no-one bothers to question the surreal role-reversal.

Suddenly, Ivan drops the scalpel onto the table, leaning his elbows beside the discarded tool, burying his face in his bloody hands, "Prosti," he mumbles, over and over, "Prosti, prosti, prosti."

"Prosti?" Ludwig frowns, "That means "Sorry", doesn't it?"

Ivan's head moves quickly, barely nodding, "Prosti, prosti, prosti."

"Why are you sorry?" Ludwig demands, "What do you have to be sorry about?"

"It's too late," Ivan's uncharacteristically small voice is muffled by his bloody hands, "The poison's spread to his organs, prosti, prosti, prosti."

Matthew calmly detaches one arm from Alfred's crushing grip and gently rubs Ivan's arm in an attempt to comfort the Russian. "It's okay, Ivan, you did your best. And you did say you doubted it would work."

Alfred grits his teeth, glaring at Ivan, "You cut my little brother open for nothing?"

Matthew grips his brother tightly, his hand returning to Alfred's arm, "It's okay, Alfie, he didn't know the poison had spread. It was worth trying, at least."

Feliciano, shuffles, trying to sit up. Ludwig helps, and the injured Italian gives his German companion a grateful hug, "Ve, grazi, Matteo. And Ivan, too."

"Why are you thanking them?" Ludwig asks, face still pulled down into a frown.

"They tried to help me. And even though they couldn't, knowing that they care enough to try makes me happy, ve!"

"How can you be so calm?" Alfred looks from Matthew to Feliciano and back again, "I mean- even Germany's freaking out a little."

Matthew laughs, "I'm usually calm though, eh?"

"They say that dying is the most calming of activities," Ivan says. He has lowered his hands and now leans casually on the table. Matthew's blood has been smeared across his forehead and cheeks, and is soaking into the sleeves of his coat.

"Okay, dude, I have no idea who 'they' are," no-one bothers to halt Alfred's rant, "But I have never heard anyone say that in my entire life. That's just morbid, dude. And you're covered in blood, which is just gross. You're just one creepy-ass weirdo, commie."

"He's right though," Feliciano pipes up before anyone can remind Alfred that Russia isn't Communist anymore, "I'm really calm."

"Aren't you scared?" Ludwig asks, surprised at Feliciano's mellowed maturity.

"I'm a little sad to have to leave my friends and Lovino behind. And now that I know that Holy Rome won't be waiting for me that just makes me more sad. But I'll get to see Grandpa Rome again. And because Matteo will be going with me, that makes it less scary, because now I know I won't be alone."

Matthew smiles and blushes slightly as he is remembered. Feliciano smiles back. "Come sit with me," he says, making grabby-hands in the Canuk's direction.

Ludwig suppresses his laughter at Feliciano's childishness. Alfred picks Matthew up bridal-style and is about to carry him around the tables when Ivan drags the vacated tables out of the way, shoving it lazily in the general direction of the door. Alfred nods his thanks, and sits Matthew on the table next to Feliciano.

Feliciano holds his hand out to Matthew, "_Manus in Manus in Infinitum,_" he says, "Grandpa Rome used to say that all the time, and make Mister Germania hold his hand."

Gingerly, Matthew slips his hand into Feliciano's. Both men note that the other's hand is soft and smooth, but Matthew's hand is cold compared to Feliciano's much colder one, much like their lands. "What does it mean?" Matthew asks.

"Hand in hand into infinity," Ludwig mumbles, "It always annoyed Grandfather Germania, but Gilbert claims that the last thing Grandfather did was take Mister Rome by the hand, and his last words were "_In Infinitum_" to Mister Rome."

"That's a little sad," Feliciano says, wrapping his free hand around Ludwig's, Matthew doing the same with Alfred's hand. Feliciano grins, holding up Ludwig and Matthew's hands, "Ve! Ivan! Join the circle!"

Ivan looks shocked, shaking his head and hiding his face behind his scarf. As Feliciano persists, Ludwig holds his hand out, his expression more impatient than friendly. After a nudge from Matthew, Alfred copies the German. Begrudgingly, Ivan steps forward and takes their hands. All three men feel the strength of each other's grips, the different climate of each other's skins, and the slowly drying Canadian blood on Ivan makes their hands slimy.

"_Manus in Manus in Infinitum!_" Feliciano chimes, "Ve! It's a circle!"

"That's the Earth," Ludwig answers.

Feliciano bounces up and down in excitement, the remaining three just staring in confusion as Ludwig and Feliciano begin to sing just one last time; "Ne, ne, Papa, can I have some wine?" Matthew smiles as the words 'Papa' and 'wine' bring back memories of his time as a French colony, "Ne, ne, Mama! Ne, ne, Mama! No matter what, I can't forget, the taste of the bolognaise won't get out of my head! Draw a circle; that's the Earth! Draw a circle; that's the Earth! Draw a circle; that's the Earth!"

Feliciano sings "Sono Italia!" as Ludwig sings "Ich bin Deutschland!" Timidly, Matthew adds "Je suis Canadia!" followed by Alfred singing "I'm America!" Even though he is being stared at expectantly, Ivan doesn't sing anything.

"Ah~ a beautiful world," Feliciano continues regardless, considerably slower and quieter than before, "That can be seen in the stroke of a single brush…"

Feliciano pauses as Matthew's grip on his hand loosens. He looks across to see Matthew slump against his brother, eyes closed. Alfred cries out, grabbing the Canuk, as if shaking him and screaming into his ever-peaceful face will bring him back.

Feliciano snuggles closer into Ludwig, the German wrapping his arms around him gently. "And now we toast with a big boot…"

Ludwig waits. He waits for Feliciano to finish the song. He waits for the familiar little chime of "Ve, Germany~" He waits for a warm body to come crashing into him, to wake him up from this odd nightmare.

After an infinity of just five seconds, Ludwig's eyes flick to Feliciano's face. Feliciano's head is lolled against Ludwig's shoulder, his eyes closed, a small, ditzy, happy, smile gracing his soft, round features.

Ludwig doesn't scream, or cry, or panic. He calmly bows his head, kissing Feliciano on the forehead, nose, each cheek, and finally on the lips. Feliciano is cold, unlike the kiss they had shared all those centuries before, before Ludwig had been forced to leave Austria for war, but still had a faint taste of pasta. His lips hovering just inches from Feliciano's, he finishes the song alone; "Hetalia."

* * *

**Feels enough? No? There's more on the way~**

**I am aware that there are thingys that hospitals use to enlarge cuts for internal operations, but they're not likely to have something like that in a war base, so they don't have one and Ivan has to peel the skin away**

**I don't own Hetalia  
I seem to enjoy having Alfred beat Ivan up. Don't worry, no more beating poor Ivan. Not by Alfred, anyway :)  
Laurel Silver**


	4. Lonliness

Arthur leaps to his feet as a figure enters the large meeting room. The figure is tall, thin and so pale they're almost sickly. His clothes are casual; boots, jeans and an over-sized red hoodie.

"Canada! Matthew!" the Brit exclaims, "You're alive?!"

'Matthew' looks up at him, huge blue eyes brimming with tears, "I-I'm not Canada… I'm America…"

Ludwig hadn't asked any questions when Alfred had peeled off his prized bomber jacket and slid it onto Matthew's unmoving body. In return, Alfred hadn't asked any questions when Ludwig had taken up his gun and silencer, taken the keys to Kiku's prison from Alfred's belt-loop, and left. Ivan had already gone to find shovels.

A scream suddenly confirmed that Ludwig had succeeded in his task. Arthur and Francis follow a garbling noise, which turns into a flow of desperate, panicked Chinese. They find Ivan attempting to annex Yao, who is trying to charge at Ludwig, who is standing over Kiku, who is laid on the floor with a pool of thick red blood slowly spreading underneath him.

"What the hell is going on here?" Arthur demands.

"It's pretty obvious, ain't it?" Alfred says, "Japan killed Feliciano, so Ludwig killed Japan, and now Yao wants to kill Ludwig."

"But you can't just kill a nation with bullets!" Francis exclaims.

"You can if you force them to give up their land." Ludwig deadpans.

Arthur scans the body, the legs and arms made pouris and bloody with bullet wounds. "You kneecapped him. You tortured him into giving his country to you."

"I think we should all calm down, da?" Ivan says, voice rising.

Giving a shriek of misery and anger, Yao presses a heel back into Ivan's knee. Ivan falls back with a pained yell just failing to cover the sickening snapping sound. Yao freezes, torn between fussing over Ivan and avenging his dead brother. He eventually settles with getting Arthur to help him drag Ivan up onto his one good and sitting the injured ex-nation on the table.

After Arthur cuts the lower half of the trouser leg away to clearly reveal the break, and Yao fusses over Ivan like a mother hen, Ludwig pushes crudely between the nations, demanding Arthur fetch a first-aid kit. With Yao glaring death at the back of his head, Ludwig grips Ivan by the ankle and, without so much as a warning, snaps the mangled bone back into place. Ivan gives a yell of agony, throwing a sharp punch on reflex at the crown of Ludwig's head. Ludwig gives a grunt of pain, and clamps his hands around the break, despite Ivan repeatedly clubbing him on the scalp.

Arthur dashes in with a first-aid kit, throwing the box open onto the desk next to the now-cursing Russian. He takes up a roll of basic cotton bandages, unrolls them quickly and, with the expertise of a long-time parent, wraps the bandage tightly around Ivan's shin, Ludwig inching his fingers out of the way. "Looking after all my colonies made me pretty, uh, adept at fixing injuries," Arthur jokes awkwardly, "Australia got injured the most often, but America always made the biggest deal out of even the tiniest of injuries."

"South Korea," Yao mumbles, "South Korea often got injured. Usually by his twin; they never got along."

"Kids, eh? Who'd have 'em!" Arthur gives a forced laugh.

"Gee, thanks _Dad,_" a voice snaps from the door. Alfred leans against the doorframe, twirling a shovel idly in his hands.

"Alfred… I was only joking, lad…"

"Whatever," Alfred cuts him off and holds out the shovel to Ludwig, "Feliciano and Mattie deserve a burial, at least."

"I will help," Ivan says bluntly, leaning back over the table to snatch the shovel from Alfred's hands.

"You're not going anywhere, aru!" Yao attempts to pin Ivan to the table. Ivan shoves Yao off and forces himself to his feet, leaning on the shovel like a cane. The shovel is a little too short for this job, making his prominent lip making exaggerated.

"Dude, what happened to you?"

"Yao kicked me."

Alfred eyes the accused ancient, and simply spits; "Cunt."

Yao, Francis and Arthur stare after them in shock as the trio leave, Ivan hobbling slightly behind the tense German and the teary-eyed American.

* * *

Alfred, Ludwig and Ivan walk to a large clearing a short walk from the building. Alfred has carried Matthew, Ludwig has carried Feliciano, and Ivan has struggled after them with two extra shovels as well as the one he is using as a cane. Alfred and Ludwig settle their loved lost ones down side-by-side at the foot of a maple tree.

"Ivan, you shouldn't be here," Alfred insists, "You're injured. You can hardly walk- how are you supposed to dig? And, besides, Russia had almost nothing to do with Italy or Canada."

"It is my fault Matthew was poisoned, and my fault he couldn't help Feliciano when he wanted to. And, besides," he glares pointedly at Alfred as he copies his words, "I had relations with Italy during the World Wars, and we are both known for our Mafias and underworld. Canada and Russia were once connected by a land-bridge, we are both known for hockey and winter-sports, and we are both underlings of General Winter; I have a lot more in common with your brother than you think."

Alfred pulls a face. "But still, your leg…"

Ivan holds up a hand to silence him. "I am helping. End of discussion."

By this time, Ludwig has dragged the tip of his shovel through the ground to form a large square. He digs the shovel into a corner and pulls up a mound of earth, throwing it to the side. Alfred follows suit, starting on the opposite corner. Ivan digs up a third, not yet questioning the fact that the square is much too large for two people.

* * *

Half an hour later, Ivan has dug up less than a third of either Alfred's or Ludwig's efforts, but stubbornly refuses to give up.

A branch snaps, and all three whirl at the sound, shovels raised in warning. Yao steps out of the overgrowth, shovel in hand, Kiku strapped to his back. Alfred's eyes narrow at the Asian duo, bouncing the shovel in his hands.

Yao sighs, "I know he did a bad thing, but he still my little brother, aru."

The trio ignore the Chinese man as he starts digging a short distance away.

* * *

Within two hours, Kiku has been buried and a bouquet of chrysanthemums has been placed on the freshly churned earth.

"Do you need a hand, aru?" the question is aimed more at Ivan than Alfred and/or Ludwig, but all three glare at him. Yao grabs Ivan by the arm and begins attempting to drag the hulking Russian towards the hide-out building. "You're going to hurt yourself, aru."

Ivan simply shrugs him off. "It's almost finished anyway. I'll be fine."

Yao eyes him. "You'll come back now, or I'll tell your sisters, aru. They won't be happy, will they, aru?"

"Fine. Tell my sisters." Ivan snaps, "Be sure to start with you kicking me and breaking my leg."

Yao scowls, his mouth opening and closing a few times, making him look comically like a fish, before he turns on his heels and storms off.

"Smooth," Alfred comments.

Ivan gives a small, genuine smile, "Spasibo. But, comrades, I have a question. The grave we've dug is very big. Too big, I think. In actual fact, it appears to be twice as big as necessary."

"That's not a question," Alfred says, voice hostile, as Ivan pauses.

"I know, Alfred. My question is; are you sure?"

Alfred and Ludwig share a look. Alfred nods instantly, determined. Ludwig pulls a notebook and pen from the inside pocket of his jacket. He writes quickly, without giving himself time to think. He finishes, rips it out without checking it, folds it roughly and hands it to Ivan. "Make sure this is delivered to Lovino Vargas; representative of Italy. New Japan is Yao's and Germany is Gilbert's."

"Comrade, I am not well," Ivan says, refusing to take the note, "I am old, injured and dying; I may not be able to get it to him."

"But you're gonna get better," Alfred says quietly.

"Why do you say that?"

"Did you ever think about how your sister will cope with this war? With representing and looking after such large amounts of land and citizens? How they'll cope with your death?"

Ivan's face falls, "No… no I didn't…"

"That's okay, dude," Alfred smiles, "You're a pretty okay guy, Ivan. Your sisters love you, y'know. Whenever I talked to either of them, they always had so much to say about you. They need you, Ivan, to help them and they need you to end this war. Can you do that, Ivan? For me and Mattie, for Feliciano and Ludwig? Make the world a better place? Can you be the hero?"

* * *

Feliciano and Matthew lay side-by-side in the huge grave, their cold hands clasped into each other's. Ludwig sits at the other side of his maid-boy and Alfred sits by his twin, each clinging to the respective corpse's free hand. Ivan gives them a soft, sad smile goodbye as the now ex-nations raise the guns to their heads and pull the triggers.

Ivan takes his time filling the grave, singing a song about circles and the Earth to himself.

When he returns to the building, he is instantly bombarded with questions, which he answers as quickly as he can. As Arthur and Francis break down in tears over the loss of their sons and Yao begins making phone calls confirming that he is the new representative of New Japan, Ivan peels the bandage away from his fixed nose and walks away without a limp.

Upon arriving in Italy, he calmly requests to see Lovino Vargas; representative of Italy. When asked his name, he responds with; "Ivan Braginski; representative of The United States of America and Canada."

* * *

**Shorter and less funny than the last chapter. There's an epilogue after this, which is happier, honest! Well, not at first, but oh well!**

**I don't own Hetalia  
-Laurel Silver**


	5. Epilogue Hand in Hand to Infinity

Ivan Braginski, human representative of the United World, stands alone at the foot of an ancient statue, peeling the moss away piece by piece. His hair is long and unruly, curls and cowlicks standing up in random places. His thick skin is blotchy, many different skin colours blending together over his limbs. When he speaks, his accent is primarily Russian, but changes constantly, melting into something completely different mid-sentence. His face is frozen into a childish smile, but his eyes are empty. As he digs his fingernails under the offending plant, he hums a cheery little song to himself. The same song he had hummed to every last nation as they had given up, handing over their land and responsibilities to his and taking their own lives in one way or another.

When asked by inquisitive, innocent little micro-nations why he refused to roll over and die, Ivan had simply answered; "Once upon a time, I had wanted the whole world to become one with Mother Russia. I guess I have that, even if this isn't quite what I meant. But, my little comrade, it is also because I once watched a hero lie by his brother, and a soldier by his love, and I promised that hero that I wouldn't give up, that I would make the world a better place, that I would be a hero like him and his brother."

The micro-nations thought him weird, but left him alone. One by one, as ice-caps melted and wars raged and the humans found more and more stupid reasons to hate each other, the micro-nations had fallen.

Ivan can feel the wars raging inside of him, but ignores the way his people are falling by each other's hands. The United World is dying.

Ivan steps back from the statue, the green clumps of weeds falling among the overgrown chrysanthemum at his feet. The statue depicts four men. The first bears a military uniform, expression plain, his hand reaching out to take Ivan's. The second has attached himself to the first's free arm, his shirt open to reveal a scar running down his torso. His expression can only be described as ditzy, the curl that had once stood up from the rest of his hair eroded away, and he is holding hands with the third. The third has a shy smile, glasses and curl weathered away. He is half-hidden behind the fourth, who has one arm wrapped firmly around him. The fourth is grinning goofily, his other arm held out similarly to the first. At their feet, a metal plague bears a Latin sentence engraved in capital letters; "_Manos in Manos in Infinitum_"

Ivan takes the stone hands in his own, ignoring the cold he is now able to feel. In his head, he can hear an Italian voice chiming "Ve! It's a circle!" and a German voice answering; "That's the Earth."

As the last soldiers fall, Ivan opens his mouth and, for the first time since the burial of the heroes and the solider and his maid-boy, sings the song he has been humming for centuries; "Hey, hey, papa, can I have borsch? Hey, hey, mama! Hey, hey, mama! No matter what, I can't forget, the taste of the vodka won't get out of my head!"

He doesn't notice the stone hands softening in his own. "Draw a circle, that's the Earth! Draw a circle, that's the Earth! Draw a circle, that's the Earth! I was Russia!" He doesn't hear the sad little 'Ve!' that a ditzy little Italian sighs as he sings that. "Oh, a beautiful world, that can be seen in the stroke of a single brush…"

The stone hands suddenly tighten around his own. Ivan finally looks up at the statue he had had built all those centuries ago to be met with the faces of Ludwig, Feliciano, Matthew and Alfred, all apparently living and breathing.

"What…" Ivan trails off, looking around at the many other nations that have gathered around, watching them with mixed expressions.

"It's the afterlife," Alfred says, "Look; there's Amelia, and Lincoln, and Davie…"

"And a little bambina who kept asking where you were," Feliciano interrupts.

"A little girl?" Ivan asks.

Ludwig points to a figure on Ivan's left. Turning his head, Ivan is met with the eyes of the young Grand Duchess, who with an exclamation of 'Vanya!' runs at the former nation. Ivan releases Ludwig and Alfred's hands to scoop Anastasia up, whirling her around, chattering away to her in Russian. Matthew drags Alfred away, deciding to take Arthur up on his offer of tea with William, Joanne and Victoria. Ludwig picks Feliciano up, carrying him over to where Gilbert sits with his grandfather and the rest of the Vargas family, singing along with his former maid-boy turned lover; "And now we toast with a big boot! Hetalia!"

* * *

**Humans mentioned:  
Amelia; Amelia Earheart, first woman to fly a plane (solo I think) and disappeared above the Bermuda triangle  
Lincoln; Abraham Lincoln, American President, freed the slaves, killed after being shot in the head  
Davie; I'm so sorry for this reference  
Grand Duchess Anastasia; member of the Romanov family, killed (I think that was Bloody Sunday) and it's practically canon that she was friends with Ivan and he had to kill her himself  
William; William Shakespeare, English playwright (even if there's a lot of controversy around him)  
Joanne; J. K. Rowling, writer of Harry Potter  
Victoria; Victoria Windsor, England's longest reigning monarch and queen of the British Empire**

**Fail ending is fail. Fun Fact; every second chapter of this story features the lyrics of Marukaite Chikyuu**

**Still don't own Hetalia. Hope you enjoyed it!  
-Laurel Silver**


End file.
